


The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent

by Mrs_Spooky



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5911678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Spooky/pseuds/Mrs_Spooky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya's been regressed to a child.  Can he be recovered?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Littlest U.N.C.L.E Agent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870953) by [26foxbuck221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/26foxbuck221/pseuds/26foxbuck221). 



Napoleon crouched behind a computer bank. He and Illya had scoped out the place the day before and had a pretty good idea of the layout. He hadn’t seen Illya since they escaped from the place last night and he knew he had been captured by THRUSH. He himself had made it out but his friend who had been right behind him didn’t. He hadn’t been able to reach him all day so he knew he was inside, captured, most likely in a cell.

Their mission was simple, blow the lab outside a small town in Montana. They were given no details about what was being developed there, but Waverly had stressed the gravity of the effect of the invention that was about to be tested there and ordered Napoleon and Illya to destroy it and the scientist involved as well. It was an unusual sort of assignment, but they trusted their boss and followed his orders like the good U.N.C.L.E. agents that they are.

And now Illya’s been missing since last night. Napoleon waited until the last of the THRUSHies had left the lab and finished planting the explosives to be detonated by the signal from his watch. He just needed to find Illya first because he sure as HELL wasn’t leaving without his partner. He’d blow the place and himself before he’d leave him behind.

The coast clear, he crept out from behind the computer bank he was hiding behind and set the last few charges out of sight and made for the door. It slid silently open and he dared to peek out into the hallway which was empty. He remembered where the cell block was located, since Illya would certainly be held there. It would be a simple matter to blow the lock, retrieve his friend then with Illya’s help, exit the lab complex and trigger the explosions. Piece of cake.

Moving quickly, he turned to the left. Down the hall to the second right then another left about 30 feet later. Illya had drawn out a map of the layout that turned out to be accurate to the foot, as per usual for him. He found the cell block and leaping through the door that opened at his approach, he faced the lone guard who rose and leveled his weapon at Napoleon with a shout. A single shot of a tranq round put this one out of commission quickly. He slung the rifle he retrieved from the guard over his shoulder and examined the cells. All were empty except for one.

The lone occupant of the cells was a child! Napoleon gaped at the depravity of THRUSH, holding a baby in a cell! He blew the lock and entered and found that the black blanket that he thought was covering the tow-headed child was in fact a black turtle neck sweater, very much like the one Illya was wearing when he last saw him. The baby was lying face down on the thin mattress, wearing this adult sized sweater with a gun in his little hands. He turned the child over and his blood ran icy cold in his veins. He stared in shock at the child’s face - the jaw, eyes and brow were too familiar. He noticed the sweater he was wearing smelled like his friend. _Illya???_ He examined the gun he took from the child with the "K" embossed on it. It had been unloaded, but this had to be Illya.

Napoleon had no time to waste, he came in to find Illya and blow the lab. Why was this child who looked like Illya wearing Illya’s sweater? He scooped the sleeping child up gently and laying his head on his shoulder he hurried to the exit. He followed the route to the exit when the alarms sounded. His activities in the cell must have triggered it, he had to run. He took off at a sprint, one arm holding Illya, the other with gun in hand to mow down any THRUSH guards who might try to stop him. Shots were fired which he returned. _Thirty more feet, I can do this!_ he thought.

He had just exited the lab and was sprinting for the cover of the nearby rocks when he had second thoughts about blowing the lab. _What if we need what’s in there to restore Illya? If I blow it, he’s likely stuck like this!_

A THRUSH guard jumped out of nowhere and started firing upon them followed by two more guards, furiously firing their weapons. Napoleon threw himself behind some rocks and lost his balance and fell, jamming his left wrist and the watch against the rocks.

The concussion from the explosion blew Napoleon’s clothes as he curled around the baby he was holding. It also knocked the guards off their feet, the debris catching them and killing them instantly. Risking a quick look for more guards and seeing none, he got up and ran, the baby whimpering having been woken by the blast.

Once he had made it to a safe distance, he sat the child in his lap and checked him for injuries, suddenly not sure that this was indeed his partner. Grief was threatening to overtake him at the thought that he could have left without the man he went in there for, a man who had saved his life on more occasions than he could count. Blue eyes looked up into his in terror. He started speaking, haltingly “De moya mama?” with tears welling up in his eyes. He said more that wasn’t exactly Russian. That’s when Napoleon realized the child was speaking Ukranian.

Napoleon called for an emergency extraction and notified Waverly that the mission had been completed, but there may have been a casualty. He wouldn’t elaborate when Waverly pressed for details, saying he would explain once he got back to headquarters.

The U.N.C.L.E. agents who extracted them were curious.

“Who’s the kid? Where’s Kuryakin, he went with you, didn’t he?”

Napoleon was unable to answer, his face was buried in the crying child’s neck.

 

***

Once they arrived in New York, Napoleon and Illya were transported to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, Napoleon taking his friend straight to Medical with instructions to tell Mister Waverly where he was going.

Waverly hurried to meet him there, wanting to know about the casualty, fearing they had lost Mister Kuryakin. He knew how close those two were and losing one was tantamount to losing both. It was a dangerous situation, when two agents get that close, but their partnership made them both the organization’s top agents and he was loathe to break them up since they were so effective together. This was going to be a devastating blow and he wanted to get to the bottom of it, bring whatever resources they had to bear to salvage his best agents.

“Mister Solo! Report, please.” Waverly said, entering the medical department and finding Napoleon there, waiting outside an examination room. He froze when he saw the haunted expression on Napoleon’s face.

Napoleon briefly told him what had happened, promising a full report. Waverly’s eyes widened, the reality of the situation dawning on him. He sighed heavily,

“So they HAVE tested it,” he said bitterly.

“Tested what? Mister Waverly, what was it they had there that it was so important we destroy it?”

“THRUSH was working on a device that would regress an adult to childhood, to be raised by THRUSH to do their bidding. Their plan was to capture military leaders and, presumably, U.N.C.L.E. agents, reduce them to children, then raise and nurture them into the next generation of THRUSH so they could take over the world. They have plans within plans, Mister Solo and this was one of them. It appears the device has been tested on Mister Kuryakin, if what you say is correct.”

Napoleon sat down heavily and rubbed his face with his hands. He HAD gotten Illya out of there, and demolished whatever it is they had, but the price was too high. He stared at the floor. Waverly saw and pulled a chair over and sat down next to him. He had no words to reassure his best agent since the man's best friend was now a child.

“I want to take him home with me,” Napoleon was saying. “I’ll take care of him and raise him myself. The state would have something to say about that, is there anything you can to do help?”

“You must realize, Mister Solo, that he will grow into a man who is quite different from the man you knew. He’ll grow up an American without the experiences he had growing up. Oh, he can be educated and trained, but he will be irrevocably different. You would have to leave Section II, since you would not be able to raise a child being absent like you would be if you stayed. You must keep this in mind.”

The doctor emerged from the exam room followed closely by Doctor Franklin and a few members of his staff. It was Illya all right. They took blood and tissue samples and were having them tested. For now, the baby was awake and wanted his mother, what should they do? Napoleon didn’t hesitate, he hurried into the exam room and picked up Illya to comfort him, asking the nurse who was still in the room to bring some ice cream. Strawberry if they had it.

Holding Illya in one arm, he retrieved the turtleneck from the chair next to the bed and folded it as best he could one handed. That’s when he noticed the bullet holes and dried blood on the sweater. He wanted to keep it for Illya for when he grew up but decided he’d keep it for himself as a reminder of the friend he loved and was now lost forever. The man this child will grow up to be will be different, as Waverly said and he knew he would love him too, but he didn’t want to forget the Russian.

 

***

The days passed. Waverly had put Napoleon on indefinite leave until it could be worked out how they were going to deal with the child that was Illya Kuryakin. U.N.C.L.E. would help, of course and Waverly wanted to be there for both of these men he so greatly appreciated.

Napoleon was never seen without the tow-headed child on his shoulders, or carried in front of him, squealing with laughter at the doors that opened before them, Napoleon laughing too. The baby had Illya’s appetite and he struggled to keep him fed. He taught him English and Illya learned quickly. He made a note to make sure he learned Ukranian, Russian and the other languages Illya was fluent in as well. The ladies at headquarters clustered around them too, cooing at Illya and how adorable he was and paying a lot of attention to Napoleon as well, which pleased him greatly. Illya was going to need a mother and the women of U.N.C.L.E. were all very intelligent and competent women, he could surely find someone here who can help. Maybe even give him a brother or sister!

He was in Mister Waverly’s office delivering his final report on their mission to blow up that Bozeman lab, Illya’s arms wrapped around his neck, Napoleon holding him tightly. Waverly’s assistant Lisa Rogers had entered to hand a folder to Waverly when she spied them there.

“Napoleon, you DO know, don’t you, that if he’s ever going to learn to walk you’re going to HAVE to put him down from time to time. Right? Have his feet even touched the floor since you two got back?”

Napoleon flushed when he realised she was right. He HADN’T put him down except when he put him to bed, and half the time he wound up sleeping with him. Illya didn’t WANT to be put down either. This could be a problem.

It was on the fifth day of Illya’s second childhood when Napoleon realized something wasn’t right. Illya had gotten irritable, cross even. He slept a lot and stopped eating. Any food presented to him was thrown at whoever was trying to feed him. Napoleon wondered if it wasn’t the excitement of headquarters and maybe he was overdoing it. His communicator signaled a call from Mister Waverly, summoning him and Illya to Medical.

He rose from his desk with Illya on his lap to carry the whining, squirming child to Medical when Illya burst out with, “NA PO LE ON!!”

Napoleon froze, gaping at Illya. He was taught to say his name, but this time it was different. It sounded like it was spoken by his friend. The expressions on Illya’s face ran from irritated to confused to terrified. Wide blue eyes stared wildly at him, “What happened to me? Where are we?” in Russian-accented English.

“Wh-what is the last thing you remember?” Napoleon asked, incredulous.

“I-I was trying to climb the rocks around the lab to get out. I heard gun shots,” Illya said haltingly. “It’s all a blur after that. Then you were there. Then strawberry ice cream. I don’t know, it’s all confused.”

 _Oh my God, he has his memories back,_ wailed Napoleon internally, not sure if he was relieved or horrified.

“We’ve been summoned to medical, I’m taking you there now.” Napoleon started to move to his office door.

“I can walk,” Illya said firmly using his year and a half old voice. “I know the way.”

Dubiously, Napoleon put him down so he could walk. With those little legs, it was going to take forever to get there, since Medical was three floors down and more than half a block away. Napoleon pointed that out, but Illya wanted to walk. They hadn’t gotten far with Illya falling twice when he decided that this was bullshit and maybe Napoleon should carry him. He was not happy when he was picked up and carried the rest of the way to Medical to meet their boss, Illya growing more uncomfortable by the second, writhing in Napoleon's arms.

They entered to find Waverly, Doctor Franklin and the doctor standing, arms crossed, glaring at an older white haired man with a trim mustache holding a small case holding a filled syringe who was pleading with them,

“I needed a volunteer,” he was saying plaintively. “Animal trials were successful, but I needed to test it on a human volunteer. Then the guards brought in this beautiful young man who had multiple gunshot wounds. He was shot multiple times and he fell from a height and broke most of his bones when he landed. He was DYING. They said he was one of theirs and was shot by an U.N.C.L.E. agent named Napoleon Solo and that I should save him. They said they needed him.”

He stopped when he saw Napoleon standing there gaping at him shocked, holding the squirming child that had been taken from the THRUSH facility.

“I’M Napoleon Solo,” he said, indignant. “They lied to you.”

“Indeed they did lie to you, Doctor Antrim,” Waverly said severely. “This is Illya Kuryakin and he’s not only one of ours, but he’s Mister Solo’s closest friend. Mister Solo certainly did NOT shoot Mister Kuryakin.”

Filled with shock and regret, Antrim said, “I’m sorry I didn’t know! My device was supposed to SAVE lives. But now that I have him here, I need to give him this injection before his memories return. If he doesn’t get this serum, the results will be devastating.”

Horrified, Napoleon blurted, “He’s got his memories! Not fifteen minutes ago, he remembers everything!”

In a panic, Doctor Antrim dropped the syringe with the serum and started running around the room, Doctor Franklin and their chief of Medical running out tearing their hair, Waverly backing against the wall, screaming.

Napoleon couldn’t hold the struggling Illya any longer. His face had gone beet red and he let out a high pitched squeal. Panicking, Napoleon dropped him, then bent to pick him up again when Illya began to lose his shape, melting into an amorphous, throbbing blob of flesh. it all happened so quickly, in terror Napoleon wailed,

“IIIILLLLLLLYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

He threw himself down on the floor and howled in grief and terror.

 

***

“Napoleon. NAPOLEON!! NA PO LE ON!!!!!”

Hands shook him awake. Napoleon wailed and shrugged off the hands on his shoulders, devastated. Illya was gone, he died horribly and there wasn’t anything he could do. Illya was gone. Illya was dead.

“Hey, snap out of it, WAKE UP! You ok?”

Napoleon’s eyes were closed, his having lost all interest in life. The familiar accented voice was speaking urgently to him until he opened his eyes and looked uncomprehendingly into the face of his dearest friend who was lost forever.

“Do I have to slap you?”

Napoleon blinked. “Illya?” He said warily.

“Last I looked,” Illya said dryly with some relief.

Napoleon looked around the dimly-lit room. He started to remember they had just finished a job that afternoon and were spending the night in a small inn in Iceland before their morning flight out to New York City. The place didn’t have rooms with two twin beds, only single double beds. It was the middle of the night still and the wood stove in the room was too small to hold enough wood to heat the room for the night and obviously the wood had been burned out and needed replenishing.

It was toasty warm in the bed thanks to the heavy blankets and his companion, but his nose was definitely cold and their breath was showing as frost.

Illya slipped out from under the covers, and clad in his thermals, ran to the stove to load more wood into it which should hold until they’re dressed in the morning. He jumped back into bed and stuck his face under the covers to re-heat the air in there with his breath.

Napoleon laid their staring at the ceiling. “Sorry I woke you,” he said finally.

Illya settled the blankets up around his neck, “Not like I slept at all, with you thrashing about like you were,” he said grumpily. His voice softened, “That must have been one hell of a dream. Are you ok?”

Napoleon was struggling to get used to the idea that Illya was alive. He relayed the horror to Illya who listened silently.

“Wait. You think I’m a baby?” Illya said finally.

“NO! No. Well yeah.” Napoleon answered.

Illya shot him a look with one eyebrow raised.

“Well you should have heard yourself whining when you skinned your knee this afternoon,” Napoleon replied defensively.

“It hurt!” huffed Illya. “I told you not to eat that blood pudding before going to bed. This should teach you.”

The horror of the dream fading, Napoleon rolled over on his side and studied the profile of the head on the next pillow. _Definitely not a child_ , he thought with relief, never wanting to be without that face. Illya closed his eyes, “Good NIGHT, Napoleon.”

“Good night, Illya.”

Illya’s eyes opened for a moment when the arm was thrown across his chest. He smiled briefly and shook his head then went back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> When I first found AO3, it was because someone shared a link on tumblr to the fanart by krokodil titled "The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/5759497). Then I read 26foxbuck221's work, "The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent.
> 
> Thoughts of Illya being regressed to a small child had been in my head for months, but I wasn't writing muncle fanfic at the time. Then I saw the fanart a week ago, then read 26foxbuck221's work and I knew I had to get mine in too. I'm using the same title, in keeping with the theme. If you haven't seen the fanart by krokodil or seen the fic that I've listed as an inspiration, you absolutely MUST, they are brilliant. I'm just adding my own two cents' worth.
> 
> Looks like we cousins have something of a hive mind going and it's glorious!
> 
> Also...
> 
> Something I ought to mention - I have screaming nightmares. Not often, but I do occasionally wake up screaming, the worst was just before my first trip to Tokyo, my waking experience was a lot like Napoleon's in this story. I didn't have Illya trying to wake me up, just a whole bunch of cats on the bed staring at me, not knowing what to do.
> 
> As for the end of that dream, Yep, those came from screamers I've woken up from. Creeped me out just typing it.


End file.
